by Mark Tufo
I worked harder to free myself, almost more than convinced that as soon as I broke free I would find myself at the bottom of the ocean, inside the Titanic, or buried under an avalanche in the Swiss Alps. It would be an eternal cycle of cruelty punctuated by a quick victory, then a reset. I didn’t acknowledge it at the time, well, maybe in the back of my head somewhere…but certainly not the forefront, not at first anyway, but my hands weren’t actually touching the rocks. There was a layer of invisible material between myself and them. My fingernails should have been broken and bleeding as I scraped them against the abrasive stone. I’ve read those stories about people being buried alive. When others dig them up (for whatever reason), those poor bastards’ fingernails are torn off and blood trails are left all over the wood as they lost the fight to extricate themselves. Near as I could tell, my hands were doing remarkably well; I would have attributed that to my being a half-vamp, but that was supposedly not the case anymore.
Claustrophobia has its own issues…but not being able to breathe? Well, that brings terror to a whole other level. By now I was punching up and kicking out with every inch afforded to me. Horribly, the more light that flooded in, the less air I received. My head was starting to ache and blackness was creeping in across the periphery of my vision. My extremities were getting heavy, becoming leaden, much like my eyelids. I wanted to scream out in frustration but I didn’t have the air to spare. I was at the point now where I could heave individual rocks off of my chest and was even able to sit up and pry some large ones off my legs. Still I could not take a full breath.
“So fucking close,” I thought. I couldn’t figure out what else needed to be done. I thought perhaps my lungs had been punctured by ribs that were crushed under the weight of the stones. What else could it be? This was going to be a hell of a scene for the poor person that stumbled across it. Give them nightmares for years—a dead man, half in and half out of his grave. My sight was down to pinpricks, I was on the verge of blacking out followed immediately by death. Ultimately, I think that worked in my favor because I wouldn’t be able to do something stupid that would justify the devil claiming rights to my newly liberated soul. Then I had a moment of more panic when I thought maybe my past actions had already condemned me, so I needed to stay alive to put some points in the win column. I tumbled out of my grave in one last desperate bid to stay alive. A glint of sunlight reflected into the tiny speck of sight still afforded me. I more fell over and rolled, than any deliberately choreographed movement on my part.
There was an audible pop; figured, at first, this was me busting back into the spirit world. This was immediately followed by a whooshing of air. Sweet, glorious, wondrous air. I was face down in a pile of rocks as I dragged long, hard chunks of the oxygenated gas inwards. It tasted like dirt and moss and it could not have been any sweeter if it were bathed in beer. Might have even sucked up a bug or two—right then I didn’t care. My headache started to release its clutches on my frontal lobe and my vision ever so slowly began to expand. When I felt like I would not be nauseated anymore, I rolled over. The sun was brighter than I could ever remember it being. My chest heaved as if I was in a romantic novel and I was getting it on in a big way. I stayed like that for at least twenty minutes; finally, the rock in the small of my back reminded me just how uncomfortable, and how corporeal, I was.
I’d like to say I got up, but it was more of a controlled slide as I got off the small mound of rocks. When I figured I had enough juice to do it, I rolled onto all fours and slowly pushed myself up. I was standing, albeit wobbly at first. Then I gave out a triumphant cry.
“I’m alive!” It did not nearly have the volume I’d been hoping for, there was no echo and birds didn’t take off from nearby trees. It was a hoarse little thing. Then I realized just how thirsty I was. I had yet to take inventory of my body. I was standing, so, okay, I couldn’t have been in too much disrepair. Next, I did what any guy would do in this situation. If you haven’t figured it out, that means you aren’t a male. I’ll leave it at that. Only once I was certain that specific parts of me had not blackened and fallen off, did I look around to see where I was. I had not a fucking clue. I was on a small mound with one hell of a view, but that told me little of my locale. I did a 360 of my immediate surroundings and then noticed on the ground what had caused that glint in my eye. It was my axe. It must have broken through whatever second skin my body had been enshrouded in.
“Azile,” I said aloud. There could be no other explanation. When Xavier killed me it had been Autumn; leaves had fallen and the world was turning into earthen colors before the white of winter took over. Right now, I was looking over a field ablaze with flowers of all colors. It was safe to say I’d missed at least one winter and was nestled deep into spring.
“I’ve been gone for at least seven months.” I shivered. Seven months I had spent with Tommy and hunting for my soul. “At least seven,” I clarified. I didn’t even want to ponder if I had once again reset the clock of time. What if it had been seven years, or seventy? Again, everyone that I cared for would be gone and forgotten. There was no part of me that could go through that another time. I looked at the hand axe. I was once again mortal; how hard would it be to end it all? Drag that edge across my veins and within minutes, I would blissfully be with my Tracy again.
“Or not,” came a voice from all around me.
“Or not,” I echoed. I grabbed my axe and was planning out my next course of action. First things first—I was thirsty and incredibly hungry. And I needed to get away from this place. Apparently, death carried with it an incredibly pungent and earthy smell. I was heading away as I fell over a large stone; it was my headstone. I had not been prepared for the barrage of feelings when I saw my name carved in that rock. There was a broken heart immediately below it. I traced my finger across the jagged line.
“I’ll make this up to you, Azile.”
Chapter 2
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 2
*
IT WAS TWO days later when I felt sufficiently able to make a trek longer than a couple of miles. I’d fattened up on a clutch of rabbits after I’d literally stumbled into their hole. About broke my fucking leg. They owed me. I got a good handle on which way was south and just orientated myself that way and started walking; no real reason to have another plan in place. I mean, what the hell else could I do? Stay there? Maybe take out an ad for some local women to come and join me as I started a new community? I was pretty sure Azile would be alright with that. “Yeah right,” I told a passing squirrel, then I kept on going. At first, the going was pretty slow as I got off the hill. I was, for the most part, making my own trail and with all the new growth it was sort of like being buried all over again, the branches grabbed and pulled, doing their best to hold me tight within their thorny grasp. Maybe they were in cahoots with the rocks and were desperately trying to drag me back into the hole which I was not supposed to have escaped. They would then break my body down into the nutrients they craved to keep their own lives going. I was pissing on the whole cycle of life shit. I would have flipped it off, too, if I hadn’t been so busy hacking my way through.
I’d done a fair amount of backtracking as I came to parts that were impassable. By the time I reached an actual trail, the day was coming to a close. I was not thrilled at all with being on a path that was obviously used by all manner of creature. And now that I was merely a man again, I was feeling mighty vulnerable. For so long I’d worried about so little, at least as far as germs and things go; now I was boiling water to the point where I was burning it. Yeah, let that one sit for a second. Would that be irony if I was finally done in by a germ? I guess maybe only if I were a virologist. But, because I was a germ-a-phobe, my guess was it would be fate to die by a microbe. Cruel, pathetic, fate. I had been a vamp for three times longer than I’d been a human; I basically was in re-learn mode. I needed shelter, food, and water at a much more accelerated pace. Luckily, the nights were fairly warm, but fifty degrees Fahrenheit still had a chill to
it.
I was not overly keen with lighting a fire; there seemed to be more things these days that were drawn to it rather than repelled. Plus, I’d never been great at lighting fires unless I had a lighter and lighter fluid. This rubbing sticks shit was for the birds. My arms ached by the time I got an ember going. I was thinking that maybe I would live out the rest of my days right here, adding one log at a time. That way I’d never have to light another—I’d just keep this one going. I spent the rest of the night fashioning a crude bowl to boil water in and an ember nest, something I could carry a hot coal with during the day. I had no idea if either of those things would work but I had to keep up a conversation with myself and I didn’t want to appear ignorant.
Days drifted into weeks as I took my time. I still wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed since my departure and I wasn’t in too much of a rush to discover if my biggest fears were panning out. Plus, I was tired. Had to be walking at least fifteen miles a day and I had chafe in spots nobody should. About two weeks in, and my progress was severely halted when I got a case of dysentery I figured was going to be the end of me. I knew that fish I’d taken out of the stream tasted a little funny…didn’t stop me from eating it, though. Hunger has its own mind. I was just about to dig out a coal to get back on the road when I felt the first inklings of a stomach cramp. Did my best to ignore it, but held off on putting the fire out anyway. A part of me knew I was going to be in for a ride. The next crippling cramp had me doubled over and working the buttons on my pants in record speed.
I figured if anyone was going to stumble across me, this would be the time. I’d taken my boots and pants completely off. I was naked from the waist down as I found a tree to torture. My body shook as I butt-mudded the entire area. Not to get too graphic, but picture being a large person stirring an industrial sized vat of wet, thick, macaroni and cheese with a heavy wooden paddle. You know that squishy sucking sound you get when you are mixing it up? Yeah, well, that’s what it sounded like in my camp that day and most of the night. By the time I curled up to the fire, I was exhausted. Anything that could get past the ring of stink I put up was more than welcome to eat me, though I don’t think I had anything left in me worth consuming, considering I had shit out my lower intestine, a kidney or two and possibly my liver. Felt like my asshole was dragging on the ground. And don’t ever let anyone fool you into thinking leaves make a reasonable toilet paper substitute. About as effective as a plastic bag, and have the added bonus of feeling like gravel after a few swipes.
The next morning I was drained, but alive. I’d survived my first encounter with the enemy. I could almost picture an army of them swirling around in my makeshift cesspool, shaking their collective fist at me. “We’ll get you next time, Talbot!” This all in a very chipmunky voice.
“Fuck you.” I got my boots on, pondered maybe staying an extra day and getting my strength back, and maybe I would have if the wind hadn’t changed and I started to catch whiffs of what I’d been cooking. Seemed the powers-that-be wanted me to keep going. “I got the hint,” I said with my head bowed. I packed up my meager belongings and headed out. As the sun got higher, I felt better. Somehow, that small victory seemed that much sweeter because so much more was on the line. Maybe I wasn’t in great danger of dying, but it had smelled like it, and occasionally had felt like it. By the time the night settled in around me, I was almost a hundred percent. There were some gurgles, but otherwise, all was quiet on the festering front.
Now the problem I had to contend with was loneliness. After so many goddamned years of wanting to be left alone, I now desired, no, maybe the word is craved, to be around people, specifically, Azile. Did I love her? Yeah, I guess I’d have to say I did. She wasn’t a replacement for Tracy, but neither was she just a standin until I could be with my wife. This was definitely going to complicate things once we were all together again. I’m not Mormon, and in any case there is no part of me that would ever want to be with multiple women at the same time. Asking for Trouble doesn’t scratch the surface. That’s like demanding Trouble come to your fucking door and then kick you in the balls before it walks inside the house to take a big fat shit on your new couch.
I heard a wolf off in the far distance that night and it was the first time I’d even thought to take a look at the moon. It was nearly three-quarters full. In less than a week, it would be howling time. Then what? Was this still a problem? The cycles of the moon meant nothing to the Lycan. Even if they were no longer actively looking to take over the world, they still had to eat and I just so happened to be recently added to the menu. Plus, had all of the werewolves been accounted for the day I died? After a war, there are not many combatants that wish to continue the conflict. The world just got a lot scarier; the brush to my sides a little denser, more ominous. Maybe it would be better if it were, like, seven thousand years later—though I was pretty convinced the place would by then be overrun with aliens of some variety, and it was safe to assume none of them would look like E.T.
There were more anxious moments a week later in my trek when I watched the full moon creep up over the horizon, but unless I was going to come across a flock of were-rabbits, I guessed I was pretty safe. That morning I saw evidence of humans; a tree stand for hunting built a good twenty feet up in the air, a rickety old ladder the only means to ascend. It goes without saying that I climbed the unsafe steps. Worth it…so worth it. When I turned to the left I saw what had to be the new and improved Talboton off in the distance. It was surrounded by a large wall, dark gray, maybe black, and I could see smoke from many small fires drifting out of many chimneys from within. I couldn’t quite see or hear any human activity, but there were people in there. That was all I needed to know.
Damn near spilled out of the tree stand when the top step caved in as I placed my foot down upon it. If I hadn’t grabbed the solid railing I would have fallen on my head and most likely snapped my sorry neck. That fucking close to getting somewhere, only to have it end by falling out of a goddamned treehouse. I think that’s irony right there. Once my feet were firmly planted on the ground, I had my first moment of doubt; should I even approach the place? I was racked with indecision. The notion of just going back to Ron’s seemed the wiser, safer course of action. Maybe it hadn’t been seven thousand years later. What if it was just a hundred years? Bailey would be gone, everyone I had fought alongside would be gone; none of these people would know me. And maybe they wouldn’t want to. Name of the town could have even been changed to Baileyville or something by now. I might be the legendary pariah that had almost destroyed their settlement.
It was the whinny of horses that broke my thoughts. I walked a little ways until I was finally out from under the canopy of the forest and in a large, planted clearing. A team of horses and a few humans were working the field off to my left. I stood there for a while. The man astride one of the horses finally saw me. He stood in his stirrups to get a better look; I waved my hand high above my head in a friendly gesture. He turned and yelled something back to the town before he directed his attention to those around him. They moved quickly to an opening in the wall.
“I guess it’s safe to say that no matter where in time you are, the world is not a welcoming place.” I wondered if there would ever come a time when strangers weren’t immediately assumed to be dangerous? Odds didn’t favor it, but it was a nice thought to hold on to. I’d been spotted; it made little sense now to not keep moving forward. I was slightly concerned, though, that someone might take a potshot at me with a cannon as I walked closer.
“That’s far enough!” a voice called out.
“Gonna be a hell of a feat throwing me food from that far away!”
“Why would we give you food?” he asked back.
I gulped hard, not sure if I should even bring her name up. “Where’s Bailey?” I asked.
“What is your business with the Council Chair?”
Well, either Bailey was still alive or someone else had named their kid that, which made sense since
she was a hero. Hell, could be a couple dozen Baileys running around right now.
“Is the Council Chair about yea high?” I jumped up. “Has golden caramel colored skin and looks like a warrior angel?”
“That…would accurately describe the Chair Person. Though, many would know her appearance. You still have not stated your business.” If anything, the guard seemed more suspicious.
“Well, see, she kissed me a while back and I’ve traveled nearly a month to let her know that as much as I would like to have a relationship with her, I don’t think things would work out between us. There’s just too many differences. I like almonds and peanuts; she prefers hazelnuts and it just gets worse from there. If I had to take a guess, I’d say she’d be a cat person.”
“Do you have the dumbs, sir?” the man asked.
I flipped him off.
“How dare you! I should shoot you where you stand!”
Uh-oh, it was looking like my gesture had started to catch hold in this new world; so much for secret handshakes.
“What is all this commotion?” It was Bailey; she appeared atop the wall, next to the guard. My heart alternated between wanting to stop beating and also flutter away inside my chest. She looked different, dressed in more traditional clothing befitting her new station, but not terribly older.
“This man seeks your attendance,” the guard said loudly. “Then he flipped me off.”
It was almost comical how slowly Bailey’s head turned in the direction the guard was pointing. Got to think she was fully expecting to be looking upon a specter of some sort and the way her face paled when she saw me confirmed my suspicion. The guard reached a hand out to steady her when she put her own hand out to grab the parapet.